The Investigator

I've been a detective for eleven years.

Missing persons is usually straightforward. Runaways. Custody disputes. People who don't want to be found.

You file the report. Do the interviews. Check the usual places. Most cases close within a week.

Then I got the Patterson case.

Marcus Patterson. 34 years old. Reported missing by his sister.

Last seen three weeks ago. No signs of foul play. No financial irregularities. Just gone.

Standard case. Except for one detail.

His Contributor Score went to zero the day he disappeared.

Status: Inactive.

I asked his sister about it.

"The police said he opted out. Chose to go off-grid. Is that true?"

"Marcus loved his life. Had a good job. Great apartment. Why would he opt out?"

"People have their reasons."

"Not Marcus. Something happened to him. I know it."

I've heard that before. Family members who can't accept that their loved one chose to leave.

But something felt off.

I checked his phone records. His last call was to a number registered to Harmonic Solutions.

I called it. Got a voicemail. "Your call is important to us. Please leave a message."

Left three messages. No callbacks.

I checked his bank account. Found six deposits over six months. $2,400. $2,800. $3,200. $3,600. $4,000. $4,400.

All from Harmonic Solutions.

I looked up the company. Shell companies. Delaware registration. No physical address.

But I found something in his email. Assignment confirmations. NDAs. Instructions.

All for something called Special Tasks.

Last assignment was the night he disappeared.

Unit 7B. 1847 Riverside Industrial Park. 2:00 AM.

I drove to the industrial park.

Empty buildings. Locked doors. No signs of activity.

I tried Unit 7B. No answer.

I came back at 2:00 AM the next Saturday.

Cars in the parking lot. People standing outside the units.

I watched from my car as a man in a gray suit came out. Led them inside.

They didn't come out until 5 AM.

I ran the plates on the cars. Cross-referenced with my database.

Three of them had missing persons reports filed within the last six months.

All marked as "chose to leave." All with Contributor Scores at zero.

But here they were. Getting into cars. Driving away. Still existing.

I started digging.

Found seventeen missing persons cases in the last year. All with the same pattern.

Last known activity at Riverside Industrial Park.

Contributor Score dropping to zero.

Status: Inactive.

Reports closed as voluntary departure.

But family members insisting something was wrong.

I tried to reopen the cases. My captain shut me down.

"These people chose to leave. Their scores show they opted out. We're not wasting resources on people who don't want to be found."

"But they're still here. I've seen them."

"Then they're not missing. Case closed."

I kept investigating on my own time.

Followed people from the industrial park. Tracked where they went.

Home. Work. Normal places.

But something was off about them. The way they moved. The way they interacted.

Like they were going through motions without really being present.

I approached one of them. Sarah Vickers. Missing for four months. Score: Inactive.

"Excuse me. Sarah Vickers?"

She looked at me. Blank expression. "Yes?"

"I'm Detective Riley. I've been looking for you. Your family filed a missing persons report."

"I'm not missing. I'm right here."

"Your mother is very worried. Can you call her?"

"I've been meaning to. Just busy."

"When was the last time you spoke to her?"

She paused. Looked confused. "I'm not sure. Recently?"

"Four months ago. Before you went to Riverside Industrial Park."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You participated in a Special Task. Unit 12A. After that you went Inactive."

"I work in accounting. I don't know about any special tasks."

"Can I see your ID?"

She handed it over.

Sarah Vickers. Current address. Current photo.

Everything looked normal.

Except her eyes. They were wrong. Like looking at someone through a screen instead of in person.

"Your mother would really like to hear from you."

"I'll call her."

She didn't call.

I checked with her mother two weeks later. No contact.

I kept following leads. Kept tracking people who'd gone Inactive.

All of them were still around. Still living their lives.

But none of them were really there.

My Contributor Score started dropping.

Started at 734. Solid middle tier.

Then 698. Then 671. Then 643.

I wasn't doing anything different. Just investigating.

But the algorithm was punishing me.

My insurance rates went up. My credit card company lowered my limit.

I got a notice from my apartment. "Tenant reliability concerns."

I kept investigating.

Found a connection between all the missing persons. All had participated in gig work. All had Contributor Scores between 750 and 900.

All had been assigned Special Tasks.

I tried to get a warrant for Harmonic Solutions. Tried to access their records.

Judge denied it. "Insufficient evidence of criminal activity."

"Seventeen people are missing."

"Seventeen people chose to opt out of the system. That's not a crime."

My score hit 587.

I was called into my captain's office.

"Riley. What the hell is going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your reliability metrics are tanking. Your score is below department minimums. Are you having problems?"

"I'm investigating the Patterson case."

"That case is closed."

"It shouldn't be. Something's happening to these people."

"They opted out. They're living their lives. There's no crime."

"They're not themselves. I've talked to them. Something's wrong."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"You're on administrative leave. Effective immediately. Get your score back up. See the department counselor. We'll reassess in thirty days."

I went home.

Sat at my desk looking at case files.

Seventeen people. All connected to Riverside Industrial Park.

All transformed into something that looked like them but wasn't quite them.

My phone buzzed.

Notification from the gig app I'd downloaded to research the case.

NEW OPPORTUNITY ASSIGNED

Gig Type: Special Task
Pay: $4,800
Time Commitment: 4 hours
Location: 1847 Riverside Industrial Park, Unit 9C
Start Time: Tomorrow, 2:00 AM

I stared at it.

I'd never accepted any gigs. Just had the app installed to understand how it worked.

But the system had assigned me a Special Task anyway.

My score was 572. Below every threshold.

But apparently low enough to be selected.

The decline button was grayed out.

I called my captain. Told him about the notification.

"So go. Maybe you'll finally understand there's nothing sinister going on."

"You want me to participate in the thing I've been investigating?"

"I want you to see that it's just a gig. Just work. Nothing criminal. Maybe then you'll drop this obsession."

I hung up.

Looked at the notification again.

Tomorrow. 2:00 AM. Unit 9C.

I could go. See what happens firsthand. Document everything.

Or I could refuse. Watch my score drop to zero. Watch my life collapse.

I went.

Arrived at 1:55 AM. Four other people standing outside Unit 9C.

One of them was Marcus Patterson.

The guy I'd been looking for. The original missing person.

"Marcus?"

He looked at me. No recognition.

"Do I know you?"

"I'm Detective Riley. Your sister filed a missing persons report. She's been looking for you."

"I'm not missing."

"You disappeared three weeks ago."

"I've been working. Living my life. I'm not missing."

Same blank affect as Sarah Vickers. Same disconnected eyes.

At 2:00 AM the door opened.

Man in gray suit. Tablet.

"IDs please."

I handed over mine. He scanned it.

"Detective Riley. We've been expecting you."

"You knew I was coming?"

"Your investigation triggered assessment protocols. You've been flagged for participant processing."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you've learned too much. Asked too many questions. Made too many connections. The system needs to integrate you."

"And if I refuse?"

"You can't refuse. Your score is below voluntary participation thresholds. Mandatory processing applies."

He held the door open.

"Follow me."

We went inside.

Same setup I'd seen before. White room. Chairs. Mirror.

"Sit."

We sat.

The suited man stood behind us.

"You've each been selected based on your understanding of the system. Tonight you'll observe what happens when someone gains too much knowledge. When someone sees the pattern. When someone needs to be integrated."

The mirror turned transparent.

On the other side was a white room. A chair. Someone sitting in it.

It was me.

I was in the chair. Under bright lights. Answering questions I couldn't hear.

But I was also sitting in the observation room.

Two places at once.

"What is this?"

"Distribution. You're being processed. Multiple instances created. One will continue your investigation. One will integrate into the system. One will forget everything. The algorithm will determine which version becomes dominant."

"This is insane."

"This is efficient. You were getting too close. Asking too many questions. This way we can use your investigative skills while ensuring you don't disrupt the system."

"People will notice I'm missing."

"No they won't. A version of you will continue working. Continue living. Just with modified understanding of certain events."

I watched myself in the chair.

Watched myself answer questions.

Watched myself become something else.

The suited man tapped his tablet.

"Processing complete. You'll each experience memory integration over the next seventy-two hours. Don't fight it. Just let the system optimize your configuration."

I woke up in my car at 5 AM.

Drove home.

Tried to remember what happened in that room.

Couldn't.

Just blank space.

But I had notes on my phone. Written by me. During the session apparently.

"They're copying us. Multiple versions. I'm distributed now. Don't trust yourself. Don't trust anyone. The system won."

I don't remember writing that.

I went to the station the next day.

Captain called me in.

"Riley. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Why?"

"Your leave. The mandatory counseling. Don't you remember?"

"I remember. I'm better now."

"Good. Your score is back up. 734. Same as before. Glad to see you sorted things out."

I checked my phone. Score: 734.

Same as it was six months ago before I started investigating.

Like the investigation never happened.

But I had case files. Notes. Evidence.

I went to my desk. Pulled up the Patterson file.

Case closed. Voluntary departure. No further investigation needed.

I checked the other seventeen cases.

All closed. All marked voluntary.

Like I'd never flagged them.

I checked my email. Found messages I didn't remember sending.

To Marcus Patterson's sister: "Your brother chose to leave. He's living his life. No foul play suspected. Case closed."

To Sarah Vickers' mother: "Your daughter is safe and healthy. She's chosen a new path. Please respect her decision."

All sent by me. All closing cases I'd been investigating.

But I don't remember sending them.

I went to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.

My eyes looked different. Like the others.

Looking through instead of at.

I went home that night.

Sat at my desk. Tried to piece together what happened.

But the memories were gone. Replaced with something else.

With the understanding that there was no crime.

That people chose to leave.

That the system was working as intended.

I got a notification on my phone.

ASSIGNMENT COMPLETE - PAYMENT PROCESSED

$4,800 deposited in my account.

For work I don't remember doing.

My score is 734.

My captain is pleased.

My cases are closed.

And I keep seeing people I investigated. People who went Inactive.

All living their lives. All looking normal.

All with the same eyes I see in my mirror.

I don't remember what I found.

But I wrote notes before I forgot.

"They're copying us. Multiple versions. I'm distributed now."

I read those notes every morning.

But I don't understand them anymore.

I just know my job.

Close cases. File reports. Don't ask questions.

That's what I'm paid to do.

My score is 734.

Everything is fine.

Everything has always been fine.

I keep telling myself that.

And one of me believes it.